Wacky Wasteland
by KSherwood
Summary: A series of misadventures across the Wasteland, taking the Weird Wasteland perk to the extreme!  Legionaries are inept, Lakelurks learn to sing, Nightkin defend patches of flowers, and more!  Each chapter is a separate story. Final chaper Xmas story!
1. It'll Be Our Secret

**I got the idea for this story from several in-game sources, including Vulpes Inculta mentioning that his encounter with the Courier outside the Tops was not his first visit to New Vegas. I wondered what his first visit was like… years before the events in the game, before he became the head of the Frumentarii…. And basically the story just wrote itself. Sorry, Vulpes fans!**

It'll Be Our Secret

Vulpes Inculta frowned at the blazing neon lights advertising all sorts of things forbidden in Caesar's Legion. Caesar trusted him a great deal to send him on this mission in the nest of vice and sin that was New Vegas. The mole at Camp McCarran, Captain Ronald Curtis, had leave, and they would meet at the Ultra-Luxe, the safest place on the Strip, to discuss all the security leaks in the NCR, things that even Curtis would hesitate to say over the radio.

He was a day early for the rendezvous. Caesar had suggested that he take the time to get a feel for the city, and as the young man stood nonchalantly in front of the Tops casino, he observed three half-naked female NCR troopers dancing in the fountain across the street from him. For a moment or two he was mesmerized by the wettest t-shirt contest going on before his Legion sensibilities took over. Profligates, he thought, disgusting creatures, softening their brains with addictive substances, immersing themselves in vice….

A heavy hand clapped him too hard on the shoulder.

"You look lost," an NCR officer brayed. "This your first time on the Strip?"

He nodded.

"Well, then it's time to pop your Vegas cherry, friend. I'm sure you'll have a blast and be drunk and capless in no time."

"I doubt that," Vulpes Inculta said, coolly. _Get your hand off my shoulder._

The man laughed. "That's what my troopers all say, but then they go into Gomorrah… it's the most popular casino among the NCR. They've got it all under one roof: gambling, booze, chems, whores…."

The Desert Fox raised his eyebrows; here was an opportunity for some extra intelligence. Alcohol loosens the lips as well as softens the brain tissue. After saying goodbye to the somewhat over-friendly profligate, Vulpes Inculta doubled back towards the entrance to the Strip. Gomorrah was the only casino that did not advertise its delights with neon; the fires of Hell did the trick.

The thug in the lobby patted him down for weapons and seemed only mildly surprised to find his machete. "You'll get it back on your way out, pal."

Vulpes Inculta stepped into the casino and immediately a curvaceous young thing was hanging off his arm. She had a lot of long black hair, large eyes, and an expansive bosom. A dark purple something whispered down her body, doing her no harm at all, and she smelled of fresh apples.

"Want to help me play craps?" She asked, leaning her heavy bosom into his arm. "It's good luck to play as a couple."

How did everyone know he had never been to the Strip before? He must be doing something wrong.

"I have caps," she continued. "I'm not asking you to pay my gambling debts. Wait… your wife's here, right?"

"No…."

"Well, come on! I'll buy the first run of chips since it was my idea."

"Why the hurry?"

"I feel lucky! Can't you feel me shaking? I only shake like this when I'm in for an incredible run of luck. I'm Smoky, by the way. Smoky Sierra. What's your name?"

"Fox," he answered carefully.

"I like that. Is it because you have sharp eyes?"

"It is from pre-war history; that's what you should tell people. When the story's better than the truth, tell the story!" She placed her chips on the table and held out the die to the legionary. "You take the first throw."

He took the die, figured he had nothing to lose but time by trying, and started to throw them, but before he could let go, Smoky caught his hand and blew on his fingers.

"That's lucky, too," she whispered with a small, impish smile.

They had a very lucky run with the dice as she had predicted, and the dealer finally chased them away from the table. In spite of himself, Vulpes Inculta was caught up in the thrill of the city.

"Want to buy me a drink?" Smoky leaned against him again.

"Very well."

The air of Brimstone was smokier than the casino, and it was possible to get the tiniest bit light-headed off the second-hand fumes of alcohol and chems. Smoky gestured at the dancing prostitutes.

"See any you like?" She asked.

All of them, except the ghoul.

"Not the one without skin," he answered. "For that matter, is it male or female?"

"It has tits, so it must be female," she replied, throwing out her own chest. "But I don't know what kind of weirdo would want it from a ghoul."

"You may have answered your own question by saying that."

"So you do have a sense of humor; I'm so relieved." She gestured at the bartender, who slid them a bottle and two glasses.

Smoky poured the drinks, handed one to Vulpes Inculta, clinked her glass against his, and drank. He stared dubiously at the amber liquid laughing in the firelight. Drinking was strictly forbidden in Caesar's Legion.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"I should not…."

"Aw, live a little," Smoky drained her glass and licked away the drop that clung to her lip. "I won't tell on you."

He knew that this was a ridiculous statement, but surely just one drink would be all right. It would help him blend into the atmosphere. Abstaining would make him look suspicious. Vulpes took a sip of the whiskey, grimaced at the burning sensation of the alcohol, and set his glass back down. Much to his annoyance, Smoky was helping herself to a refill. How could a profligate _woman_ best a man of Caesar's Legion at anything? He finished his drink and poured himself another stiff shot. This one went down much easier.

Smoky stood up, holding the bottle in her hand. "Let's go out to the courtyard. It's cooler out there."

Full of little tents stuffed with piles of cushions, or round beds, the courtyard also trumped Brimstone for levels of comfort. She selected a tent with a bed and sat on it, taking another drink straight from the bottle, and then offering it back to Vulpes.

Pointing at a titian-haired prostitute in a pink nightgown, Smoky said, "That's Joana. She taught me everything I know."

"She taught you-..?"

She laughed. "I hired her to teach me some of her tricks. Charged me twice her usual fee, but in the long run, it'll be worth it."

He drank from the bottle. This drink was smooth as silk, but he needed to lie down….

Vulpes Inculta cracked open an eyelid. His head felt like a vice, and the inside of his mouth felt like the Mojave. It was morning, ordinarily his favorite time of day, but at the moment the sunlight was as relentless as an alpha Deathclaw. Very gingerly he sat up and put his feet on the ground. His left foot brushed against the empty bottle, bringing back hazy memories of the previous night, most keenly the NCR officer saying, "you'll be drunk and capless in no time."

Panicked, he inspected himself. He was mostly dressed, and his clothes did not smell badly of alcohol. It hurt his head to count the caps, but he was relieved to note that his caps were still there. The scribe might raise his eyebrows at the amount spent, but everything was expensive in New Vegas.

Smoky was still there, more disheveled than he, but as he noted when he dipped his face into the pool, she looked better. At the moment, he resembled the Undead Fox.

Vulpes ran his tongue over his lips. He needed water badly, but at the same time, he was not about to drink out of the Gomorrah pool. Who knew what was in there? Thinking about it in this weakened state nearly made him vomit.

A street vendor sold him a bottle of purified water, which he gulped down and tossed away.

"You look like you've been on an all-night bender," the woman observed. "Did you have fun at least?"

Vulpes ignored her, now worried that he might bump into the chatty man from yesterday. Luckily, he did not seem to be around. Entering the Ultra-Luxe, the legionary handed over his machete without a word, suspiciously eyeing the masked White Gloves, when his eyes were open. Their casino was too white, and its patrons were trampling their elephant feet all over the place.

He found a corner table in the Gourmand and sat down. It would be a little while before Curtis was scheduled to arrive. Perhaps his head would feel better like then. Perhaps it would fall off before then.

"What happened to you," Curtis asked, by way of greeting.

"Migraine," Vulpes Inculta lied.

Captain Curtis (Frumentarius Picus) had done his own fair share of "social drinking" in the NCR and was familiar with the symptoms of a hangover, and for that reason did not pursue the matter. Sensing that his excuse was rather feeble, Vulpes Inculta, during the long walk back to Cottonwood Cove, tried to think of a better one, with limited success.

"Are you ill?" The boatman asked him.

"I was stung by a young Cazadore," the young man lied. "I only require healing powder."

"Have mine; Caesar will be most upset if you die before reporting to him."

Vulpes Inculta took the powder with a handful of water, and by and by he felt better.

Caesar was pleased by the results of his mission.

"I've got something very similar for you to do about six months from now, back in New Vegas," Vulpes was told. "And I want you to handle it just like this one."


	2. Musical Chairs and Legionnaires

**I'm a huge fan of the French cartoon character, **_**Asterix le Gaulois**_**, and the goofy Romans he has to deal with. In the Wacky Wasteland, Caesar's Legion is made up almost exclusively of such goofs, with a few notable exceptions, namely the Legionaries such as Caesar, Lanius, Vulpes Inculta, and one or two others.**

Musical Chairs and Legionnaires

The recruit legionary Caligula Minus dozed in the desert heat at the Fort. Hearing footsteps approach him he opened his eyes, and upon seeing the centurion Cicero, leapt to his feet drawing his machete.

"Ave!"

Blood spattered his armor and Cicero went down to one knee, hands (now dyed a lovely shade of rust) covering where his nose should have been.

"Don't just stand there, idiot; find that healer slave! Then help me find my nose."

Caligula ran, returning about five minutes later. "I couldn't find her, but I found your nose, some Wonder Glue and the profligate Courier."

Cicero groaned.

The profligate Courier, a singularly beautiful blonde woman named Marion Dietrich, who wore a Merc Adventurer outfit, straddled his chest, pulling out a bottle of whiskey at the same time.

"Don't worry," she said in her rather husky voice. "I know what I'm doing. You won't lose your nose for good."

She took a long drink from the bottle and then proceeded to pour the rest of its contents into him until he passed out.

Cicero woke up much later with a huge bandage on his nose, and feeling like the Rad Pack Dancers had just done their routine all over his skull. Marion sat nearby, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette.

"I reattached your nose, Kittycat," she said. "I don't know if you'll still be able to smell, but at least you won't look too strange."

He moaned.

One of the praetorian guards came in. "I understand that you were attacked, Cicero. Who was it? Fiends? Those treacherous Khans?"

"Camilla Minor. Id sable e."

"What?"

"It was Caligula Minus," Marion killed her cigarette and tossed her hair. "He saluted him too enthusiastically with his machete."

The newcomer burst into tears on her shoulder. Rolling her eyes, she patted him on the back.

"Okay, enough now," she said after a few minutes. "Enough. You'll rust."

A few hours later Marion stood in front of Caesar's throne.

"What do you think of my army?" He asked.

She raised one shoulder and took out another cigarette and Benny's lighter. "Frankly, I'm not all that impressed, your conquests notwithstanding. I spent the afternoon reattaching a centurion's nose, it having been accidently cut off by a recruit saluting him with a machete."

Caesar held his head and groaned.

Marion blew a smoke ring. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Go away!" He shouted and staggered over to his bed.

She shrugged, watched her smoke ring disappear, and left the tent. Outside, the faint sounds of music could be heard. Curious, she followed them to their source: a group of Legionaries playing musical chairs.

"What the hell?" She asked of no one in particular.

Suddenly Vulpes Inculta appeared, hackles raised.

"What do you mean by this spectacle?" He demanded, breaking up the game. "Stop this foolishness at once! Centurion- to the guard room, now! Men, line up!"

The centurion shuffled off, and the men lined up. Marion heard the exclamation points at the ends of the Desert Fox's sentences, though he had hardly raised his voice, she was impressed to note. He walked in front of the line of legionaries, up and down several times before stopping in the middle.

"Marius," he said, voice dripping with venom. "You may undertake the mission. Depart by dawn. The rest of you, to your tents!"

The men rushed to do as they were told; one went too fast and fell down. Vulpes Inculta muttered something in Latin and struck his head against the nearest fence post. Marion laughed, causing him to look up at her.

She inhaled another lungful of smoke and started down the hill towards him. "That's how they decide who goes on a mission? By playing musical chairs?"

"They are a trial at times," he replied, sounding weary.

"You handled it well."

"Yes… they are fortunate that the Legate did not witness their idiocy."

"Hell yes, if half of what I've heard is true." She slid him a sideways look. "What color eyes are you hiding under those sunglasses?"

"What?"

She took off his shades. "Black. Just like your hair. Maybe they should call you the Desert Shark instead."

He took a step back from her.

"I was kidding with you, but you do have lovely eyes." She handed him the glasses back. "I'd like to see a little less ice in them, though."

On that note she walked away. Vulpes Inculta realized that he'd been holding his breath and let it out. Otho approached him.

"That's why we are not to speak to them," the chief gladiator said. "Of course, that profligate is an exception, being Caesar's guest. We must acknowledge her, and I may yet, if Caesar requires it."

He waited for Vulpes to laugh or smile, but instead the head of the frumentarii said, "Leave her alone."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me."

Marion got off the barge at Cottonwood Cove and made for the Sniper's Nest where Cass and Veronica were waiting.

"What'd you find out?" Veronica asked.

"The one legionary with the coyote hat, Vulpes Inculta, has such pretty eyes," Marion said. "Nice ass, too."

Cass snorted. "That'll keep us alive."

"Actually, given what I've witnessed from the rest of the Legion, that may not be as unimportant as you might think."

"You mean how the soldiers mount each other as often as they mount their women?" Veronica asked.

"Not exactly. Caesar punishes that with death, by the way."

Cass drank some whiskey. "You all know my theory about Caesar and why his symbol is that bull. And I suggest we leave the subject here. Marion didn't learn anything really useful."

The Courier smiled ironically, took the bottle and had a swig. "That's what you think, Kittycat."


	3. The Visitor that Fell to the Wasteland 1

**I have several Fallout New Vegas games and therefore, three different Couriers. Marion and Merritt, my two less serious characters, come from a remarkable little community in southern Nevada called Wistful River. Here, Merritt is not a Courier but just a friend of Marion's who heard about her getting shot in the head on the radio and in venturing out to find her, got caught up in his own adventures. This three parter takes inspiration from several sources, the most obvious being the film **_**The Man Who Fell to Earth**_**, though the Visitor here bears absolutely no resemblance to Thomas Jerome Newton whatsoever.**

**And before you get to this part of the story, yes, I actually did meet someone who thought that mono was an STD.**

The Visitor Who Fell to the Wasteland Part I

Merritt shook out his long blond hair, hoping to create some sort of breeze. Unfortunately it did little to relieve the pounding desert feet. Was Wistful River this hot, he wondered, or did being away from his village make everything seem better than it was?

At least he hadn't seen any of the Legion. Or Raiders. Both groups had tried to take his home on numerous occasions, but neither had even been successful. Perhaps it was the far from wistful spirit of Wistful River. Or maybe it was something else altogether. Where else in the Wasteland would a Deathclaw get into the brewery and then blunder drunkenly into the churchyard, where the pastor and Merritt's own grandfather, fearing for the confirmation class inside, would lasso and shoot it?

"Nowhere else," he said, then something shot out of the sky and exploded about five-hundred yards in front of him. "I stand corrected."

The fire had nothing to burn and was extinguished almost before he got to the scene. The traveler barely had time to observe the large saucer-shaped crater in the ground before something very small but spry jumped onto his face. He blacked out.

When Merritt came to, there was a small alien creature sitting on his chest. It was as tall as his knees tops, with a black body, a blue sort of space suit, disproportionately large feet, an antennaed helmet (also blue), and very large expressive eyes. The creature had no nose of mouth.

"Sorry to scare you," Merritt heard inside my head. "But it was the only way to make you understand me. What's your name?"

"Merritt," he answered.

"How do you do, Mister Merritt? I don't really have a name. Is this Earth? I thought that Earth was green. I'm from Althea and it's mostly gray. Sometimes purple. But this is brown."

"Not so fast. So you're an alien."

"No." The little alien jumped off his chest, allowing him to sit up, but his next thought was a little snippy. "I'm a visitor."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. Uh, was that your ship that burned up? How are you going to get home?"

The visitor's eyes filled.

"Aw hell. Don't cry. Here," he dried its eyes with his spare t-shirt. "There. That's better. Well, little guy, you're welcome to stick with me if you want. It gets lonely out here in the Wasteland you know."

"Thank you! I'd like that very much. Can we find me a name? I'd like to have a name. It's degrading not to have one. Isn't it?"

"All right, but first we need to find a place to spend the night."

"You'll sleep some more? Do you Earthlings sleep a lot? We don't sleep much on Althea. And you were just asleep."

"I fainted before… it's not the same thing." He brushed off his backside and lifted the little creature onto his shoulder. "Come on, I think I see a house in the distance."

They found a very large house by a small lake. A few stubborn, gnarled old trees perched by the water. The house was totally deserted and oddly untouched by scavengers. There was a fine selection of hooch in a cabinet, and upstairs a closet full of clothes. Unfortunately, thin though he was, they were too small for Merritt.

"This'll be a good place to sleep," he said to himself and began to search for his small companion.

He did not have long to wait. Very soon the visitor was tripping up the stairs, loudly thinking, and "Look at this!"

He had a ring with initials engraved in it: TJN.

"Looks like a wedding ring," Merritt mused. "Can't have been a very happy one."

"Why not? Why wasn't it happy?"

"Well, why doesn't Mr. TJN still have his ring?"

"I like that name! I want it."

"It's not a name; it's initials, but we'll start with the T. Hm. How do you feel about… Thomas? Tommy for short."

"I like it. It's a good name. My name is Tommy."

"Good. I'm going to bed. You can join me if you want; it gets damn cold at night."

"I'm not tired."

"Fine."

Wondering how he happened to be wandering the Wasteland with an alien that was more like a chatty little kid, Merritt got into the large purple bed and fell promptly asleep. His dreams were full of spaceships and creatures from other planets.

In the morning, Tommy stared Merritt awake, and after breakfast (Tommy took his nourishment by dipping his face into the lake), they departed. Around noon they stopped in the shade of a large rock to rest. Merritt was just about to offer his small companion a bottle of purified water when he suddenly found himself looking at the blades of Legion machetes.

"Two, three, four, five," he counted off. "Well, you gentlemen will have to double up. None of you have mono, right?"

"How dare you!" The nearest legionary nearly stuck his machete up Merritt's nose. "We have no dealings with whores!"

The one who seemed to be in charge slapped himself in the face. "Let's all keep calm here. You, profligate, are now a prisoner of Caesar's Legion. Resist and we shall kill you."

"Well, I won't resist. I don't want Tommy to get hurt."

The legionaries looked around.

"Tommy?" One asked.

Merritt did a take. "Oh shit. Where'd he go? Tommy!"

"Is he your son?" The centurion asked.

"Hardly. He comes up to my knee… big eyes, black, wearing a blue space suit and helmet."

One of the four legionaries whispered to his leader; "He is mad. We should behead him on the spot."

"We shall take him back to the Fort with us. He'll recover once out of the sun."

They frisked Merritt for weapons and "forbidden items," including his Deathclaw Beer from Steve. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was marched down to Cottonwood Cove. Occasionally he called for Tommy, and once or twice something happened to make him think that he wasn't totally gone.

"Sit!" They shoved him onto his seat on the barge back to the Fort.

He muttered under his breath and sat. One of his captors tried to cheer him up by saying, "Once you're back in your right mind, you'll start training to be a legionary. It won't be so bad."

Merritt didn't answer.

As they docked, he was unfettered and allowed to leave the barge, though the centurion still kept a close eye on him.

"Unload the artillery shells," the centurion ordered.

The slowest legionary (the one who thought that mononucleosis was an STD) picked up the box of shells for the howitzer and started to hand it to one of the men onshore, but… SPLASH!

"Abandon ship!" The man made a phenomenal leap from the water to land, a leap that he would probably never be able to replicate.

"I'm going to feed you to the lakelurks!" The centurion began shouting, his face stroke red, chords standing out on his neck. Then the shells hit the bottom of the lake.

BANG! CRASH! BOOM! CRACK!

The barge was ripped in half by the fury of the explosion. As he observed the blast, his face fell all the way from the penthouse to the super's flat in the basement. While it fell, the color drained from his face, leaving it the gray of a corpse. In the distance a trumpet sounded, and the other legionaries took off, ostensibly in search of their dinner, but perhaps just to get away from the emotionally overwrought centurion.

He burst into tears on Merritt's shoulder. Surprised, Merritt patted him on the back and spoke reassuringly.

"There, there. It's only a boat. You didn't lose any men. C'mon. Let's see that beautiful smile."

The older man looked at him with streaming eyes. "Y-you're right. I think I'll go on to the Centurions' Mess."

Merritt searched the shore and lower level of the Fort, but there was no sign of Tommy. Darkness was quickly falling, and he began to worry. Then something at the back of his mind made him think of the officers' tents in the center of the Fort. He hesitated; however, he was not a legionary yet. It would not do either of them any good if he was accused of theft, spying, or God-knows-what-else, and then punished as the Legion saw fit. Flogging? Beheading? Crucifixion?

"Upside-down, on gold, or a telephone pole," he said to himself. "What does it matter?"

At the same time, he felt cold creep into the pit of his stomach.

Meanwhile, Tommy was a very tired little space-creature, and since the arrival at the Fort, he had been searching for a place to take a nap. He did not like the tents for the ordinary legionaries. They were too exposed: no privacy, too much noise and light. He was; however, drawn to the officers' tents. Especially the red one. It actually had a door. Of course, he did not bother with using it but slipped under the side and looked around.

The tent was very big and had several rooms. The far room held a bed with a strange sort of device attached. Someone was already in the bed, asleep, but if Merritt the Earthling didn't mind sharing, this human probably wouldn't, either. Tommy hopped onto the bed, and due to the lack of covers, snuggled up to the sleeper, who was wearing a furry garment.

Though a remarkable man in many respects, Caesar was hardly unique in his response to having something cold and unfamiliar rub against his backside in the middle of the night. He awoke with a startled yell. Thoroughly scared by this, Tommy yelled, too, though his exclamation sounded like "Wow!"

"Tommy!" Hearing the commotion, Merritt and the Praetorian guards all ran for Caesar's tent.

Merritt got there first. Caesar was sitting up, swearing at Tommy, who was yelling in his native language, which, Merritt realized, everyone could hear, but only he could understand. Upon seeing his friend, Tommy leapt off the bed into his arms. He tried to burrow into Merritt's shirt, but finally just accepted hiding his face behind his vest.

"What the fuck is going on?" Caesar demanded, then as his guards burst in, wildly swiping around with their machetes, "Goddamn it! Put those things down; you'll kill everyone! What the fuck is that thing? What's he saying?"

Merritt comforted the quivering little creature enough that he was coherent.

"He just wanted to find a place to sleep," he translated. "He thought your tent looked nice, and that you looked uh, nice and… soft. Your fur! He was talking about your fur!"

Caesar pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Does your head trouble you?" One of the guards asked. "Shall I send for Carlotta to attend to you?"

"No." He glared at Merritt, for Tommy was still hiding. "Kee that _thing_ one hundred yards from me at all times, or else I'll have the little bastard stuffed."

"Jawol," Merritt clicked his heels together.

"Get out."

He didn't need telling twice. As he left the tent, Merritt passed by a very beautiful woman standing just outside the entrance to the tent. She was way too thin, though she had once been voluptuous. Her hair was blonde, and from the way the moonlight hit her eyes, he saw that they were violet.

"Does he want me?" She asked.

"No." Merritt shook his head, "He wants to be left alone."

"Good. I can sleep." She looked at the quivering Tommy under his vest. "What have you got there?"

"Tommy."

She smiled and patted his little blue back. "Poor little guy."

On that note she walked away to one of the officers' tents. Merritt turned to the nearest Praetorian.

"That's Carlotta?"

"Yes. She is the slave of Vulpes Inculta, but Caesar also requires her services."

Not wanting to dwell on that thought, Merritt found a spot by one of the campfires to rest.

"You like that creature, don't you?" Tommy asked, sticking his head out for the first time since his disastrous attempt to take a nap.

"She's a woman, and yes, I do like her."

"Then why didn't you say something to her?"

"Because that would be dirty pool."

"What does 'dirty pool' mean, Merritt? I don't know what dirty pool means, but from the way you said it, it can't be good."

Merritt sighed. "She can't say if she likes me or not. It wouldn't matter. I could just… uh, well, that's why it'd be dirty pool. I'd go into further detail, but I suspect that you're too young."

"But I know all about that! I heard it all at the Learning Center."

"Tommy, go to sleep."


	4. Daisy Crazy

** Another Asterix reference. In fact, this whole scene is practically right out of **_**Asterix the Legionnaire. **_**Even one of the legionaries here takes his name from his counterpoint over in Gaul… Incerto Statu, Dubius Status, same difference.**

** This one is a bit shorter, but in my humble opinion, it makes up for it in its humor. In fact, it's one of my favorites.**

Daisy Crazy

Reinforcements for Caesar's Legion, disoriented by a duster, found themselves in the mountains near Jacobstown.

"Be cautious men," Incerto Statu the centurion told the legionaries under his command. "This place is said to be populated by blue demons without wits. No doubt the stuff of the profligates' overactive imaginations, but nevertheless, tread lightly!"

"Look!" The other centurion, a man named Justinian, pointed at a hulking blue form a short distance away.

Incerto Statu counted off machetes and cowboy repeaters. It would be more trouble to kill this monstrosity than to avoid it. He quietly ordered his soldiers to take shelter behind a nearby rock until the danger had passed.

Unfortunately the blue form, a Nightkin to be exact, walked straight to their hiding place. It wore a shawl with a daisy and a large hat, and upon seeing them, it drew itself up to its full height and placed its enormous hands on its hips.

"Aren't you ashamed now, aren't you?" It growled, "Tromping all over Grandma's pretty little daisies?"

The centurions were thunderstruck. Looking down they saw that they were, in fact, standing in an inexplicable patch of daisies, like the one the Nightkin wore. And… "Grandma?"

"Leo says people who step all over my flowers ought to be punished!"

WHAM!

The Nightkin (whose name was Lily) gathered up an armful of the flowers and gave one a deep whiff. "The trouble with you Legionaries is that you don't have any appreciation for pretty things. And the trouble with me is that I'm so shy and retiring, but I at least have Leo to back me up."

On that note, she wandered off. Incerto Statu wiped blood off his lip and looked around at his unconscious and semi-conscious companions.

"Hear what that monstrosity said?"

"If you ask me, they're crazy!" Someone else answered.


	5. The Visitor that Fell to the Wasteland 2

The Visitor that Fell to the Wasteland Part II

Merritt wandered up to the centurion, Loup-Garou. "I thought I was going to become a legionary after you decided I was sane."

"That is correct."

"Yeah, well, you all know that Tommy is real. Caesar even saw him, so you know I'm not looney tunes."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"What I meant, profligate, is that we are not satisfied that you fulfill the mental capacities required to represent Caesar's Legion."

At that moment Antony walked by with his hound, Lupa, apparently deep in one-sided conversation, occasionally breaking off to chuckle rather maniacally. Merritt's captor groaned, nearly dislocating his features by dragging his hands down his face. The former resident of Wistful River looked down, upon feeling Tommy the space creature tug on his leg.

"Yes?"

Tommy pointed at Antony and said something that, to Loup-Garou, sounded like gibberish.

"What did he say?"

Merritt turned to the centurion, perfectly straight-faced. "He called him a Swatnoot Hypottner."

Looking as if he had just witnessed something terrible, Loup-Garou drifted away without another word.

Picking up Tommy, Merritt remarked. "Funny sort of fellow, that centurion. Uh oh."

Tommy looked around. "Ooh, it's that woman you like but you can't tell her because it'd be dirty pool. Would you tell me what dirty pool is, again? Actually I don't think you ever really told me about it the first time. What is it, hm?"

The slavewoman, Carlotta, approached them, a basket on her arm. It was full of herbs and plants.

"Hello stranger," she said. "I'm surprised you aren't in armor yet."

He carefully put Tommy back down. "M-my name's Merritt, and they still think I'm crazy, so right now I'm just here."

"Good for you. You have it better than any other prisoner in camp, except of course, you can't leave. No chores, no running, no…." She stopped, looking down at Tommy. "Not that it's as bad as it could be. Vulpes Inculta isn't particularly _demanding_ if you know what I mean. The worst was when Caesar thought I could distract him when he had one of his headaches."

"Uh, er…."

She suddenly frowned, looking around Merritt. "Where's your friend? He was here a minute ago."

"I don't know. That probably means he's getting into trouble." He turned and saw the little girl, Melanie, sitting on the hill, mending Sgt. Teddy's ear. "Did you-?"  
>She pointed up the hill.<p>

"Thanks."

They hurried up the hill. A moment later the pair heard someone exclaim angrily. The someone was none other than Vulpes Inculta, who was trying very hard to pull Tommy off his head without damaging his coyote-skin headdress. For his part, the little creature had the coyote's ears in a death grip.

"Sinister fiend! Release him! You shall not harvest his memories! Leggo!"

"Tommy!" Merritt and Carlotta ran over to calm both alien and Fox. "It's all right. It's a hat. His brains aren't in any immediate danger."

"Are you sure it isn't a hideous Maaksel Demon from Quadrant 44?"

"You have my word of honor, for what it's worth. It's only a coyote skin."

Vulpes Inculta fixed Merritt and Tommy with an icy stare. "Would you care to explain what just occurred?"

Once again, Tommy hid his face under Merritt's vest. The traveler patted his trembling back before answering.

"My apologies. He, uh, thought you were being attacked by another space creature that wanted to harvest your memories for its own diabolical purposes."

Carlotta looked like she wanted to burst out laughing and instead pressed her face into the crook of her master's neck. To muffle the sound, perhaps.

The Desert Fox continued to glare at the two captives for a moment. "Very well. Having no point of reference for space creature behavior, I am forced to accept your word as truth. However, teach your pet how to behave."

"Right."

As they walked away, Tommy said, through the vest, "Your heart skipped a beat; did he scare you? He scared me. Why does Carlotta get to be his friend and not yours? That doesn't seem fair."

Simultaneously, Vulpes Inculta lifted Carlotta's head from his shoulder. "Keep your distance from them, my beauty. He's not dangerous, perhaps, but all the same, that man is quite mad."

Having been declared "not dangerous" by the head of the Frumentarii, Merritt was soon fitted with Recruit Legionary armor and sent out to drill with the others. Their centurion was a dark-haired man who shouted constantly, due to the fact that he was rather deaf.

"All right, you barbarous lot," he brayed. "Caesar has entrusted me with the task of making legionaries of you!"

"Then I wish he'd hurry up," Tommy muttered (he was clinging to Merritt's ankle).

"Silence in the ranks!" The centurion, due to his deafness, could not distinguish from Tommy's babbling. "You're lucky I'm not the Legate! He'd choose one of you and have the rest kill that one! But I'm going to show you mercy- just this once! Now you! Present yourself!"

"Oh, me?' Merritt took two difficult steps forward and grabbed the man's hand. "Merritt Friedman, late of Wistful River. Pleased to meet you."

"Uh, Taurus Furorus, Centurion of…agh!" He smacked himself in the forehead. "Get back in line!"

A few nights later, Merritt had created a plan to escape and was ready to put it into action. He reclaimed his old things from the metal drop-boxes outside the Fort and had told the sentries guarding the gate that he had been sent to get water from the lake. Once he was out of sight down by the shores near the wrecked barge, he stripped off his armor and packed it away in his bag. Might be a useful disguise later, or a good way to get shot, depending on the company.

"How long can you hold your breath?" He asked Tommy.

The little creature blinked his two huge eyes. "Breathe?"

"Right then. Just hold onto my t-shirt, and whatever happens, don't let go."

He quietly entered the lake and swam out of sight. The water was freezing, and Tommy weighed him down, but the knowledge that getting caught meant crucifixion gave him energy.

The swim was very long, and on reaching dry land, he was exhausted. Luckily a deserted shack waited nearby, and there, very happily he laid out his t-shirt and shorts to dry.

"I wish there were blankets or something," he said, curling up in his spares on the mattress. "It gets colder than hell here at night."

"I know," Tommy tried to burrow into him for warmth. "Althea is a lot like this. Half the year it's boiling hot, and then we're buried under snow for the other half with almost no turnaround time. That's where most of our water comes from, that snow. There's not much water here, is that where you get your water from? The snow?"

"I've never seen snow before," Merritt said through a yawn. "Once in a blue moon it rains, though."

"I want to go _home_," the little visitor thought with sudden urgency.

Opening his eyes, Merritt put his arms around his companion. "We'll find you a way home. I promise. Now please let me sleep. I did a lot of work today."

"I'm sorry Merritt. I'm tired, too." He suddenly hugged him very hard. "I love you, and I know I got you into a lot of trouble, and I'm sorry. But you've been really good to me, and I just wanted you to know."

"Aw hell," Merritt patted Tommy on the back. "Just trying to 'love my neighbor' even if he is from another planet."


	6. The Legend of Lake Mead

**The only introduction this story needs is its dedication.**

**Dedicated fondly to the memory of Fred "Tex" Avery, cartoon genius**

The Legend of Lake Mead

Carter Brown, age 67, was beheaded by Deathclaws as he drove his Brahmin train by an isolated corner of Lake Mead. His several Brahmin worth of moonshine all went into the lake and spilled their contents into the water, wreaking absolute havoc on the underwater ecosystem.

Not long after Mr. Brown met his death, the courier, Marion, and her companion, Raul passed by the lake and found, to their astonishment, a whole family of unconscious Deathclaws. They lay on their backs, mouths open, tongues lolling. The smell of alcohol in the air was enough to make any loiterers light-headed.

"Better not use a flamer here," Marion said, laughing.

Raul shook his head and started to say something, but then a commotion from the lake silenced him. A group of lakelurks lurched towards the half-sunken old rowboat moored on the beach.

"Well I'll be damned," Marion looked through her binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were giggling."

"Don't give us away, boss," Raul said. "This ought to be good."

The lakelurks tumbled into the boat and inexplicably began rowing. As they rowed drunkenly into the lake, the real surprise came. They began to sing!

"We were sailing along

(We were sailing along)

On Moonlight (hic) Bay…."

"Rotten voices," Raul remarked.

As they sang, the boat sank, but before it disappeared completely, Marion could have sworn that the lakelurk sitting at the bow instead of rowing smiled stupidly at her. Unable to speak, Marion and Raul stood there for several minutes in stunned silence. Then upon seeing someone else approach in the distance, they ducked down again.

"Hope my creaky knees didn't give us away, boss," Raul said.

Marion looked through her binoculars. "It's the Legion. Oh my God, I can't believe it! They're filling their canteens!"

"They blind or something? Don't they see the Deathclaws?"

"I think it's those damn sunglasses." She laughed and put the binoculars away. "Hold onto your hats folks; here we go again!"


	7. The Visitor that Fell to the Wasteland 3

** It's strange how some characters take on lives of their own and rebel against the things their author originally had penned out for them. Merritt was one of these characters. When I first started writing this three-part story, I intended for him to end up with Vulpes Inculta's slave, Carlotta, but as you will soon find out, my blond traveler had other plans….**

The Visitor That Fell to the Wasteland Part III

After staging the Great Escape from the Legion, Merritt and Tommy moved quickly and quietly across the Wasteland, sticking mostly to the former highway, just to keep out of the way of any dangerous critters. One morning they were blinded by a flash of light from the west.

"Ow. Dammit." Merritt tried to shade his eyes until his vision returned. "I heard there was a solar power plant nearby. Guess we found it."

"You can harness the power of the sun on Earth?" Tommy asked, wiping his streaming eyes on the spare t-shirt. "On Althea there is hardly any sunlight. Our light comes from reflections, but it's still brutal."

"Well, it's not so much 'harnessing' the power of the sun as it is trying to lasso it without the proper rope." He sighed, looking at the shirt (alien tears hadn't done it any favors). "You know, there are probably some good scientists at the plant. Maybe they can help us."

"Can we trust them? Those Legionaries were awfully mean."

"That's the understatement of the year, Tommy, my friend, and to answer your question, I don't know. There are good people in the NCR as well as bad people. It's sort of like the luck of the draw."

As they approached the building (Helios One) a tough but good-looking woman with dark hair snapped at them; "State your business."

"I just escaped from the Legion," Merritt said. "Can I defect here, or whatever it is you do?"

"Not here… your best bet for that sort of thing is probably Camp McCarran. We're just guarding this place, mostly in case the Brotherhood of Steel decides they want it back. Jerkoffs."

"Hey, I've got a kid with me. Sort of."

The lieutenant looked at the Tommy-sized bulge under his vest. "Sorry."

"Even if you can't give me asylum, can I at least go in and take a nap? Or let Tommy out of my vest, anyway?"

"Maybe. How'd you end up in the Legion?"

"I woke up one morning with five machetes pointing at my nose, and I like my nose. I like breathing through it. Even if I didn't, I had Tommy. I went with them. Then I ran and swam and tiptoed, and here I am."

"Sounds like quite a story."

"Gets even better with whiskey."

She chuckled, "All right. Go on in."

"Thanks."

They quietly searched the facility until they found the scientific area. The only scientist in the first room was sacked out on a mattress, his sunglasses in mortal danger of being overlaid. In the next room; however, was another lab coat-wearing individual. He had thick dark hair and dark eyes, which eagerly met Merritt's blue ones.

"You heart just skipped another beat," Tommy said, poking his head out to look at Merritt then at the dark scientist. "Does he scare you? I don't think he's scary. He seems like a good person. You shouldn't be scared of him."

"I'm Ignacio Rivas," the scientist said, sounding a little shy.

"Merritt Friedman, and this is Tommy from Althea."

"Very pleased to meet both of you. Is, uh, there some way I can help you?"

"Tommy needs to go home. Is that something you can help with?"

"Possibly. Rocketry is a little out of my line of work, but things here have settled down a bit. The Courier diverted the power to the entire grid, and because that imbecile is still supposedly in charge of the scientific department, the odds of the NCR finding out about the weapon are small. Yes, I would gladly help you."

"That's great to hear. And it sounds like you've got some interesting stories."

"Yes," Ignacio raised his shapely brows. "And I'm sure that you do as well."

"Maybe we could swap them over a drink or something later."

"I'd like that. Thank you. Since leaving the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside, I was hoping I would have more opportunities to relax with a drink, but the environment here has been such that it wouldn't be wise."

"Call it medicinal."

Tommy squirmed impatiently. "What are you talking about?"

"We're flirting," Merritt thought back at him.

"But you flirt with women, too?"

"Yes. I'm unusual in that regard. I guess you could say that I'm… flexible." Looking back at Ignacio, he said aloud, "We share a telepathic link. I think it's because he jumped on my face when we first met."

"Fascinating," he thought for a moment. "Have you visited the Repconn Museum?"

"I didn't know such a thing existed."

"It's not fair from here, and would probably be the best place to start looking for a way home for you friend."

"Will they mind if you just leave?"

"No. I'm unofficial, and they technically owe me the time, but before I couldn't risk leaving."

"But you can now?"

"With pleasure, though I must warn you, I'm not much help in a fight if we're attacked."

"Don't worry."

The trip to Repconn was free from incident; however, and upon arriving a cheerful Mr. Handy robot informed them that they were "just in time to catch the final tour of the day." After stepping around several dead Fiends, they followed their self-appointed guide without a word.

Ignacio scrutinized the displayed miniature rockets and Merritt kept Tommy from getting too close to the exhibits the guide robot deemed radioactive.

"And this concludes our tour," it announced cheerfully. "We have a little souvenir for the junior rocketeer; no need to drink what's in it, eh!"

The robot handed Tommy a model rocket filled with a glowing blue liquid, which Ignacio immediately grabbed. Merritt had a feeling that if Tommy had a mouth, it would be pouting at having his toy taken away.

"Interesting," the scientist gave the toy a cautious shake. "And troubling. This toy is radioactive. If they have very many more of these, they could potentially be used as a rocket fuel."

Tommy pointed at a slightly ajar door labeled "Souvenirs." An entire shelf was taken up by the glowing rockets.

"Thanks," Merritt turned to his new friend. "How about a rocket to fuel?"

Ignacio pointed at a red, cigar-shaped rocket with several windows. "The guide was… misinformed. These are in fact miniature rockets, not shells. They can all be potentially used for space travel, and that one is our best bet. Especially since the Courier, Marion, told me that a cult of ghouls took all the rockets at the Test Facility."

"A ghoul cult?"

"I didn't ask for details. Anyway, if we can fool the robots into thinking that we're from RobCo and are working on the exhibit, then perhaps we can accomplish this without bloodshed."

"How would we do that?"

"To start with, we would have to add our faces to their databanks. I think that can be done with any terminals remaining in the building, but that will have to wait until morning."

"These robots are crazy!" Tommy piped up. "And this whole museum is crazier! Who would want to drink that stuff anyway? I certainly wouldn't; it glows in the dark. And my mother always said, 'never eat anything that can give off its own light.'"

Ignacio was right, and the robots were easily fooled. Working around the clock, the two men, Tommy, and the befuddled robots scavenged parts, fitted them into the rocket body, made certain that every bolt was tight, and then finally filled the fuel tank with the flowing liquid inside the rocket souvenirs.

"Now we have the moment of truth," Ignacio said, as they observed the finished product.

The planetarium ceiling opened up, letting in the relentless sunlight.

"Are you ready, Tommy?" Merritt asked.

Tommy nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'm ready. I'm not scared; I've flown in worse conditions than this. Anyway, I know you're scared enough for me."

"Well, I just don't want you to crash again."

"I won't crash again. You and your friend made a good rocket." He suddenly jumped into Merritt's arms and hugged his neck tightly. "I'm going to miss you a lot. You've been such a good friend. I wish I could give you something."

"You don't-"

"Wait! Here." He handed Merritt the wedding ring, jumped down and climbed into the rocket.

While Merritt put the ring on his right hand, the robots counted down for blastoff (one produced an unlikely white lace handkerchief), and Ignacio put his arm around Merritt's shoulders. The rocket launched in a great flash of light; Merritt and Ignacio had to step back from the heat. The robot with the hanky waved enthusiastically.

Very quickly, all that could be seen on the rocket was its tail of smoke.

"He'll be all right," Ignacio said.

"Yes," Merritt blinked a couple of times then turned to face him. "Want to go somewhere cooler and have that drink now? I just so happen to have a bottle of pretty good wine in my pocket."

"Just one," he said, smiling.


	8. Fallout New Vegas Christmas Special

** Somewhere I got the idea for a Fallout New Vegas Christmas story, and this is the result. Lily and Raul would probably remember Christmas and want to help out Marion the Courier in her attempts to "deck the halls" of the Lucky 38. The others would sit back and watch. This story is really more fun than good, but if ever a world was in need of some good, clean, wholesome fun, I'd say it was the Wasteland.**

** And PS, if you want to guess what denomination Marion belongs to, shoot me a message, or guess in a review. And of course, happy holidays!**

The Fallout New Vegas Christmas Special

Boone got out of bed in the Presidential Suite in the Lucky 38 and noted that Raul was not on the sofa where he had been a few hours before. Veronica and Cass were still asleep in their bed; Cass was muttering in her sleep about dynamite. Things were a bit cramped in the old casino. The women didn't mind Platonically sharing their sleeping spaces, but Boone and Raul took turns sleeping on the sofa. Lily, due to her size, had Mr. House's old bed, and Marion and Arcade shared her room.

The sniper, upon hearing some strange noises cautiously walked into the hall. It was Marion, setting up an artificial tree, similar to those around Jacobstown, except it was covered in strange decorations. The tree looked quite pretty, but Boone didn't really appreciate it, or anything beautiful since his wife's death.

"Good morning," Marion chirped, picking up a handful of shredded silvery stuff, her dark eyes dancing. "Here, help me hang the tinsel."

"The what?"

"Tinsel, for the Christmas tree. Yesterday I suddenly realized that it was December 17th, almost a week 'til Christmas, so Lily, Raul and I decided to do something. We found this old tree and decorations; no star, though. But Raul said he'd make us one."

"Christmas?"

"Or 'Christ's Mass,' I'll explain later. Back in Wistful River, we always had a big celebration. Drove the nearby Legionaries crazy."

He folded his arms. "I thought you didn't know about the Legion."

"I didn't!" She tapped her scars with her free hand. "Getting shot in the head does tend to adversely affect one's memory, but Arcade's been helping me with that. I've made some real progress."

Boone rolled his eyes, and almost on cue Arcade and Rex appeared. The dog eagerly sniffed the tree then flopped down again in front of it with a big dog sigh.

"How'd your village stay independent?" Boone asked.

Marion shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. They never could conquer us, but it wasn't for lack of trying."

"A Christmas tree," Arcade said.

"Yeah."

"You've heard of them?" Boone asked.

"Sort of. When I was a kid I saw a holotape of an old pre-war movie, _It's a Wonderful Life._ Ironic title considering all that went on in the film."

The lift opened, and Raul got out, holding something behind his back. About five minutes later, Lily also appeared.

"Shall we wait for the other ladies, boss?" Raul asked.

"No," Marion pointed dramatically at the top of the tree. "Give the evergreen its crowning glory."

Raul handed the star he'd made to Lily. The Nightkin was able to top the tree without even having to stand on tiptoe. The ghoul, Courier, and doctor all applauded. Rex barked, and Cass shuffled into the hall.

"I was going to complain about the noise, but now that I see you've all gone crazy, I'll just go back to bed," she remarked.

"It's a Christmas tree," Boone growled.

"A what?"

"We'll explain when Veronica boots her lazy butt out of bed," Marion answered.

"Grandma's going to get started on her Christmas baking," Lily said, pushing past the group into the kitchen.

She made a great deal of noise whenever she cooked, and soon enough Veronica materialized, rubbing her eyes. She took in the tree, the decorations, and the assembled companions.

"Looks like I might have missed something," she said.

"We were waiting for you to get up so Marion could tell us about Christmas."

"Oh. Can we have breakfast first?"

"I can talk while you eat," Marion offered.

As they had breakfast (Lily's good coffee with anything else in the kitchen they wanted), Marion talked at length about the Nativity story, St. Nicholas of Myra, and of Father Christmas. Lily had several trays of cookies completed by the time she had finished.

"Wow," Cass said. "That's pretty amazing."

"Is there more?" Veronica asked, and when Boone looked at her, said, "I'm a Scribe! I make notes."

"Infinitely more," Marion picked up a cookie. "Wait until Easter. Then things really get dramatic… and important. Not that I'm belittling Jesus' birth. Mmm, these cookies are terrific, Lily."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She took a second cookie and continued. "In my village, there was always a Christmas cookie contest, but it was also always kind of a joke. We just weren't a judgmental people. 'Neither first nor last….' It was practically our motto!"

Later in the day, Lily found an artificial sprig of mistletoe in one of the decoration boxes. She hung it up in the center of the hallway.

"I remember my first time under the mistletoe," the Nightkin mused. "I was just eleven years old, and someone hung it up at the top of the stairs…."

"What's the mistletoe for?" Veronica asked.

"When two people are under the mistletoe together, they have to kiss," Lily explained, sounding very girlish. "I remember how Danny kissed me on the nose. I rubbed it in everyone's faces at school the next day!"

"Oh, Cass," Veronica called impishly.

"Forget it, kid," Cass answered grouchily. "I heard what Grandma said, and I'd like to point out that I'm reasonably sober today."

The Scribe pouted, and then a pair of female arms wrapped themselves around her neck and turned her around. It was Marion, who gave her a soft kiss on the lips.

Veronica smiled then turned back to Cass. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how about we play some pool?"

"Fine."

Marion and Raul went out in search of some spare parts that he would need to really make sure that the elevator would be safe for Lily, planning to be back at the end of the day. Arcade immersed himself in one of Mr. House's old diaries from before his self-mummification, but he got hungry after a few hundred pages and began to drift in the direction of the kitchen. Maybe he'd have a few more of those delicious cookies.

Meanwhile Boone was thinking about his wife again. What would she have thought of these Christmas festivities? Of course she'd have been thrilled, he thought. Any chance to celebrate….

The two men collided painfully as their paths coincided. Arcade looked up to apologize, saw that they were standing under the mistletoe, yelped, and jumped back. Boone also glanced up and jumped away from the taller man, knocking a wreath off the wall.

"What's Arcade yelling about?" Veronica poked her head through the door, saw them, and began to laugh.

"Shut up," Boone growled.

She picked the wreath up off the floor. "Well, what should we hang- the holly or each other?"

"Preferably the holly," Arcade said. "Excuse me."

He disappeared into the kitchen. Boone shook his head, muttered something unintelligible, and took the lift to another floor, one without mistletoe or holly.

Cass put her pool cue down. "I'm getting my ass whupped here. Why don't we call it quits Veronica, and I'll give you a lesson on how to do your hair?"

"Okay."

Marion and Raul returned and set to touching up the lift's machinery. Lily went into the kitchen and exclaimed that all the cookies were gone. Everyone looked at Arcade.

"I only had six," he said airily.

Rex whimpered and spat out what was left of the cookies.

"Fascinating," Arcade said, putting down the diary.

"Gross," Veronica corrected him. "You weird dog, Rex!"

"Oh well, I'll just make more," Lily said.

Soon the air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and baking, and Rex lifted his head up to drink in the air. Marion scratched his ears and said, "Don't even think about it."

He whimpered and placed his nose between his forepaws. She patted him again and stuck her head into the kitchen.

"Smells good."

"Hey," Cass clapped her hands once. "Everyone check out Veronica!"

Everyone looked. She was wearing her dress, and her hair was in an untidy but sexy French twist. She looked like a totally different person. Marion wolf-whistled.

Lily said, "You look very pretty dear."

"Thanks," Veronica did a spin. "This is better than those old Scribe robes, and that Power armor- whoo!"

Lily handed Raul the last tray of cookies; he was not expecting it. "That reminds me… Grandma needs to wrap her Christmas presents. No peeking!"

She disappeared into the lift, which, thanks to Raul's tinkering, did not protest as much.

"Presents?" Veronica looked a little guilty.

"Don't worry about it," Marion fingered her own dark blonde hair. "But having Christmas presents for everyone will certainly make Lily happy."

"Poor thing," Cass grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey. "And I thought things got bad when I drink too much."

"Has anyone seen Boone?" Marion asked.

"Not in a while, boss," Raul picked up one of the cooled treats. "But he's around. Why?"

"I wanted to raid the Legion drop boxes; there's usually plenty of medicine and stuff like that in there. Thought he might like that."

"They just leave those things lying around?" Cass asked.

"Well… Caesar is still under the misguided impression that I'm an ally."

"Boy, you are a snake."

"I try."

It was a long trip to Cottonwood Cove and back, and it was Christmas Eve when Boone and the Courier returned with the spoils of war. Lily was stacking her Christmas presents under the Christmas tree and humming to herself when they arrived. Oddly enough, the sound was not unpleasant.

"Whatever are you giving me?" Marion asked, picking up the package clumsily labeled with her name and giving it a cautious shake.

"Wait 'til tomorrow," Lily took the package back and set a lumpy one labeled "Boone" on top of it.

He stared at it then went to put the loot where it was stored. Arcade appeared holding a small handheld device that could have been a miniature terminal.

"I found it," he exclaimed. "Is this what you were referring to? 'In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all should be registered….'"

"Yes, that's the Nativity."

"Fascinating. 'And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night when lo!" He paused, adjusting his glasses.

"Keep reading," Marion sat under the tree. "You do it well. Every Christmas Eve we would finally hear the whole thing read, or sometimes see it acted out. I was always the only kid willing to be Herod when that happened, though."

"Herod?"

"Try back in Matthew."

He frowned and pressed a button and the mini-terminal made a strange noise. "Stupid machine."

Lily yawned noisily. "It's too late for Grandma. I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm glad she's finally getting more sleep," Arcade said.

"Me too, and I think I'll follow her example. We ran into some Deathclaws on the way back, and I'm bushed."

Marion went into the main bedroom in the suite and undressed, changing into her pale pink sexy sleepwear. Arcade joined her a few hours later. Under ordinary circumstances he preferred to sleep bare, but sharing such close quarters required sleepwear, and fortunately the penthouse held a walk-in wardrobe full of Mr. House's old clothes, including his pajamas. Their pinkness bothered him a bit, but he couldn't be picky.

He was only asleep for a few hours before he was awakened by Lily ringing one of the service bells and shouting, "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!"

"'Look at me, I'm giving out wings,'" Arcade muttered, still half-asleep.

Marion dragged herself out of bed, unintentionally letting the doctor see that she wore nothing underneath her nightie, and he thought that if he was interested in women, the sight of her like that would have woken him right up. But it only embarrassed him. Marion opened the door, revealing the Nightkin and her bell.

"Come on," Lily said, "It's Christmas!"

"Let me get dressed," Arcade asked.

"Don't bother! It's Christmas, the best time to go around in your jammies!"

He sighed and followed the Courier into the hall. Seconds later the others appeared, Cass and Veronica still in their underclothes. Boone was dressed, but lacked his shoes and shades. Raul was the only one fully dressed in his old Petro-Chico jumpsuit. Rex was stretched out on the floor.

"Merry Christmas," Marion said cheerfully.

"This could have waited 'til daylight," Cass muttered grouchily.

"Open yours first," Lily handed her a small, flat package.

Cass frowned and ripped the paper off her gift. "_The Grapes of Wrath?"_

"It's where your name comes from, dearie, but I should warn you that it's a very sad book."

"Oh, uh… thanks."

Lily thrust the lumpy parcel at Boone. "You're next, pumpkin. I hope it fits."

Boone did the impossible and made his face even more impassive as he unwrapped a sand-colored sweater.

"I don't see how you don't freeze to death in only that t-shirt," the Nightgown continued. 'Try it on for size."

Boone shed his beret for the two seconds it took him to put on the sweater over his white t-shirt. It was a little big for him, but Lily had already turned her attention to Veronica, presenting her with what he recognized as one of Mr. House's hat boxes.

The gift was in fact a hat, but not one of House's old fedoras or flight caps. It was an ornate woman's hat with a veil pinned to the front. Veronica squealed with delight.

"It even matches the dress! Thank you so much, Lily! This is great!" She carefully arranged the hat on top of her hair.

With the elegant hat, her bed-head, cami, and boy shorts, she looked absurd, but no one minded.

The next gift was for Rex: a Brahmin skull. He didn't seem to know what to do with it and barked at it a few times before flopping back down and staring at it. Intently.

Raul's gift was a cowboy hat; "so you don't get sunburned," Lily said, then seemed to realize that, being a ghoul, he wouldn't need to worry about the sun. However, he was quick to assure her that a hat was just what he needed.

She gave the bulkiest package to Arcade. "Dr. Henry said I could have these. I hope you like them; he seemed to think you would."

"Books!" Arcade exclaimed happily. "Wow… _The Big Time_, that's probably a novel, _Commentaire_ by the real Julius Caesar, might be useful against him, an old medical journal, and ooh! _Animal Farm!_ How did you know?"

"Grandmas know these things," Lily replied with a bone-crushing hug.

"_Ow,"_ Arcade moaned.

Marion quickly picked up her package. "It's heavy… did you get me a tombstone to go with my grave back in Goodsprings?"

Cass whupped her upside the head with her new copy of _The Grapes of Wrath_. "Very funny."

"All right, here goes," Marion ripped away the paper. "Whoa!"

It was a red lava lamp.

"My favorite color, too," she plugged it in, and everyone was mesmerized momentarily by the shapes that slowly formed and unformed themselves.

Raul produced a package, which he presented to Lily. "Here, thought you might like this."

It was a Mexican shawl, which Lily quickly replaced hers with, pinning her daisy to the new one.

"Thank you dear," she said. "It's very pretty. And just what I needed."

Marion looked around. "Is that everyone?"

"Seems to be," Cass said. "I'm going to go back to bed. Merry Christmas."

"Hmmf," Lily put one huge hand on Marion's shoulder. "We'll need to work on that one. But no matter- if she goes back to bed, she'll miss having milk and cookies for breakfast!"

"Milk?" Veronica asked.

The Courier smiled to herself, rocking back on her heels. "God bless us everyone."


End file.
